Hida's Story
by iampotterlocked
Summary: Hida Watson has a package delivered to her the next day. This is what happens. This story takes place after "A Study in Pink" so I suggest that you read that one first.
1. Chapter 1- The Summoning

**This is Hida's story. It takes place after "A Study in Pink," so I suggest you read that first. Thank you! Please review!**

I woke the next morning to the shrill ringing of my alarm clock. It was eight. I climbed out of bed and went to go have breakfast. As I was pouring myself a glass of milk, I heard a knocking at the door. I froze, fear spreading in my veins. I walked to the door and opened it.

"Package for Hida Watson," the man said, holding out a medium sized cardboard box. I took it.

"Thank you," I nodded politely

I went to my room and closed the door. I stared at the package and put in on my bed. I then went downstairs and finished pouring myself a glass of milk. Sherlock bounded in and started boiling water.

"The Chinese was excellent. You missed out." He said.

"Hm." I grunted in response. I took a bite of toast. Plain, just butter.

He didn't say anything to that. "Could you make a cup for me, too?" I asked him.

"Oh yes," he said. I finished my toast and stared at the wall for a while. I then moved to the sink and rinsed my dishes. The water finished and Sherlock made himself tea. After he finished I made my own. The water was too hot, so I added cold water to balance it out. As I stirred water the sound of a violin startled me. Sherlock had started playing. It was beautiful, really, and I could feel it in the air like a thick mist. I closed my eyes and saw dancers moving in unison, playing out a story with no words.

I heaved a sigh and moved to the window. The curtain was practically sheer, I could see people moving along, doing their normal things. Then I saw it. A black Prius pulled up in front of the apartment. Already? I was going to be sick. I was suddenly not in 221b; I was running, running away to a better place. I didn't care where, just… away. I was happy, I was free, I was…The breaking of the mug as it slipped out of my fingers sounded distant as I turned on my heel and walked out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, stopping his violin.

"To my room. Don't stop playing, you play well." I said as I went up the stairs. The music started up again.

I shut my door and pulled out my phone which was ringing.

_Yojuro is there. Be in the car in 15 minutes. YW_.

I turned off my phone, my hand shaking. Slowly I opened the box. I pulled out a black shirt and put it on. It was long sleeve, but with a neckline that just exposed my collarbone. I then put on the black pants and black shoes. I brushed my hair and pulled it into a tight bun. I put on my wedding band and looked at the clock. I had five minutes. I glanced at the box and found a small jewelry box in it. I opened it and found small diamond earrings. I looked in the mirror. My five minutes were up. I put on my black coat and walked out. The violin was still going strong. There was beauty in strength and there was strength in beauty, I thought.

I walked out onto the street and up to the Prius.

"Hey," I said, smiling, not getting in the car.

"Hey yourself," Yojuro said. He was my older brother, thirty eight. We looked nothing alike. He clearly took after my father, with his dark brown hair and mischievous green eyes. His wife died five years ago and he was raising my niece, Matilda alone on an English teacher's salary. Matilda had cerebral palsy, and was the love of my life. I only truly loved two people, Henry and Matilda.

"Am I not good enough to have a door opened for me?" I asked.

"You… fine!" he huffed out of the car and dramatically opened the door for me. I smiled and curtseyed and got in.

"So what are you up to?" I asked as he drove away. It was a forty minute drive.

"Nothing much, grading papers, trying to stop teenagers from making out in class, and they always make fun of my accent," Yojuro complained.

"So put on your British one," I said in a terrible British accent.

He rolled his eyes at me and continued driving. It seemed too soon before we arrived at the house. I turned to Yojuro and gave him a hug.

"I moved into 221b Baker Street, if you want to visit or something," I said.

He smiled at that. "Alright, see ya!"

I got out of the car and waved as he pulled away. The house was a normal house. It was a plain house, and blended in. one story, with a small lawn circling the house. But this house was not a normal house. I walked to the door. Each step felt like a mile, but before I knew it I was at the door. I pulled the key from under the flower pot and unlocked the door. I stepped into the house and shut the door behind me. It was dark and cold. I walked down the hall into the living room and sat on the chair in the room. I closed my eyes and focused on breathing in or out. Then I felt it. She was in the room with me. My eyes snapped open.

"Hida, you came." She said lovingly, tenderly.

"Yes, mother." I answered.


	2. Chapter 2- The Ordeal

**This is my second chapter of three. thank you for reading.**

She stepped in front of me and knelt down to my eye level. I adverted my eyes to the floor. She grasped my cheeks and forced my chin up.

"Look at me, my jewel," she said in Japanese. All of her conversation was in Japanese. It was how business was done. I obeyed.

It was like looking in the mirror, but aged thirty years. She and I had the same color hair, the same amber brown eyes, the same freckled nose and cheekbones. Her skin was translucent- as pale as the snow she was named after- Yuki. She dropped her hand.

"We have much to discuss," she said, seating herself on the couch opposite me.

"Yes," I replied in Japanese.

"Your roommate, this Sherlock Holmes." She started. "I found him on the internet. Why did you take it upon yourself to help this man?" she asked me.

"I… I got carried away, mother. I am sorry," I said.

"What does he do?" she asked me.

"He… helps the police. Yesterday he stopped a murderer." I said. I hoped against hope that he would be alright.

"A murderer?" she asked. She seemed surprised.

"Yes. This taxi driver was forcing people to take poison. Holmes stopped him from killing more." I said.

She looked at me for a few seconds, not saying anything, and then spoke. "Hida, you have such potential. You were one of the first women doctors in combat, you know." As if I didn't know that. The men made sure it was drilled into my head, day after day. Because I was a woman, I had to be twice as good as a man to have half the worth. I settled then, for being four times as good as all of them. "And if this man, Sherlock Holmes, truly stops these criminals, you must assist him."

My head snapped up. "WH-what?" I asked.

"You will assist him. You will offer him help freely and to the best of your advantage. If my daughter can do well in the world, she will. You will not lie to him, or give out information to his enemies. Help him without jealousy or envy. But," she shot out of her seat and stared me in the eye, and lowered her voice. "If I hear… or if I have any reason at all to suspect that you have befriended," she spit the word out with contempt, "him, I will make you pay." She said.

Fear spread through me. I nodded my head. "Yes, I understand. I will do as you say." I said.

She relaxed and smiled. "I knew you would, my pearl. I allow you Henry and Matilda, you should be grateful."

"I am, mother," I said. I was not human. I will obey without question.

"Come," she beckoned and walked out of the room. This was it. It was happening. I walked to the room that was supposed to be a bedroom. "Prepare yourself." She said and walked out, closing the door behind her. I looked at the window. It was blacked out. The light came from a pathetic looking lamp on the floor in a corner of the room.

I unbuttoned my jacket and hung it in the closet. I took off my pants and changed into sweats that were in the closet. I took off the earrings and put them in my jacket pocket. Finally, I took off my shirt. There was a small mirror on the wall, and I twisted and looked at my back. I saw them, the uniform scars in uniform rows across my shoulder blades, halfway down my back. It was mutilated beauty. I heard a knock at the door. She entered the room.

"Hida," she said. It was an order. I lay down on my stomach and turned my head to the side. I knew there was nothing I could do. She knelt down beside me.

"You know I do this because I love you, sweetheart. You will grow stronger. You will not be like your weak father," she said with scorn.

"I know," I said quietly. I did understand, in a way. I could not feel pain if it was all I ever felt. It would all blend together beautifully.

"My jewel. My only daughter. You will avenge me," she said. I knew what she meant. I will never love a man. To do so was suicide. My father made sure of that.

With that, she began.


	3. Chapter 3- Back to Reality

Is it possible for there to be comfort in pain? I had to wonder. It was agony. I saw red. I saw purple. That was better. Red was too angry. Purple was calming. But it did nothing for my back. Everything focused onto those points of pain as my back was cut open in uniform tally marks. I grit my teeth and closed my eyes, keeping my face impassive. I learned to control my expression. I did not cry, either. Tears were weakness. Time after time she laid open my back. I was powerless.

She sometimes talked while she worked. Every time was different. Sometimes it was silent, while other times she talked nonstop.

"I have made you perfect, you know." She said to me. "You will be the perfect one. If your worthless father ever gave me anything, it was you. A daughter of my own. Oh, I care for the others, but you… you…. are the one who will avenge me."

I wondered if I had actually heard her. Was my mind playing tricks? Sometimes I could retreat into my head, make it something better. I was just a vessel, a container. I retreated into books, into dance. I thought of city of bones. They always made the heroes in books best. You could read the torture, the physical ordeals, but did not feel it. "There are no heroes in physical pain." The quote came to me. Where was it from? I followed it into the twisting avenues of memory.

There. I had written it on the wall of my bedroom, here, in this house. 1984 by George Orwell. I decorated my room with quotes, it was the one freedom I had. Or was it? Was it a jail? Did I love my jailer? My thoughts became blurred. I opened my eyes. I looked up. She was standing above me.

"You did well, my sweet." She brushed my hair. It stuck to my sweaty forehead. "Hips up," she said as she slid a roll of bandages under my stomach. She bound my row of wounds tightly. I heaved myself up. "I am so proud of you, Hida," she said.

"Yes mother," I said, looking at the ground. She left the room.

I put my shirt on and leaned against the wall. There was a rag on the floor. I saw the small pool of blood. It was tiny, really, compared to some wounds I saw in war. I bent down and was lowered to the floor as my back was ripped open. As my vision cleared I mopped up the blood. I took my coat and other clothes and walked to my room.

If every step going up to the house was a mile, now it was two. It all tilted at an odd angle. But I did not show weakness. If I learned anything, it was to act. I went to my bedroom and collapsed on my bed. It was black, but there were yellow letters scrawled on my walls. My quotes. I love my quotes. Everything went black.

* * *

I came to a while later. My phone was beeping at intervals. Missed call or text. I pulled my arm out from under me and took my phone out of my pocket.

Where are you? SH.

Out. HW.

I put my phone back in my jacket after I turned it off. I needed to heal. I slept through the night, on and off. My wounds had dried, and Yuki poured alcohol on them. The stinging was excruciating. I passed out for a minute, and then came back. I washed my hair and put my clothes and jewelry back on. I gave myself a small injection of morphine to take the edge off the pain. She drove me back to Baker Street. He had her hair under a wig and large glasses. I exited the car and entered 221b. People jostled me back and forth. I opened the door and went up the stairs like a dream.

I went in the kitchen and saw Sherlock looking at things under the microscope. I was so tired. I silently boiled water and drank tea.

"Where were you yesterday?" Sherlock asked.

"I thought I already told you. Pity, I thought you were the ideal roomie. You know, with the passable reading skills and everything." I said.

He was silent. I finished my tea and went to my room. I was out in minutes.

* * *

Over the next week my wounds healed so I could walk with less pain.

* * *

After three they were scabs.

* * *

After four we had the next case. I vowed to do my duty.


End file.
